


Shall We Skate? (Savior On Ice)

by Raging_Nerd



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender Neutral, Ice Skating, You cannot Skate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raging_Nerd/pseuds/Raging_Nerd
Summary: You just wanted to skate, well learn how to skate would be more accurate. But a chance run in with Yuri Plisetsky has you head over heels in a bloody, hot messORYou can't skate, and Yuri won't give you a break.





	Shall We Skate? (Savior On Ice)

**Author's Note:**

> Без звука - mute  
> Туристический - tourist
> 
> Enjoy my fluffy fiction!

The Russian atmosphere was filled with crystallized snowflakes. The bitter winter air sending shivers down your spine. The mug in your hands, shook, coffee spilling from the edges. Your hands are freezing.

 

But you are here because you want (no need) to learn how to skate.

 

The trip you’re on is a drag, honestly. You are on a break from school for Christmas, and Russia seemed to be where your heart wanted to go. You  _ should _ have gone to the Netherlands.

 

But you are now here, because, well, boredom.

 

Sadly, the rink was already preoccupied by a skater  (presumably a figure skater, because  _ damn _ , those skates look expensive), much to your disappointment. You won’t let it ruin your day, though. With shaky hands you set your coffee mug down, so you can do up your skates. The frosty winter air bites at your ungloved hand, making you shiver.

 

You didn’t want seem so much like a tourist, but curse Russia and its cold weather.

 

Shakily, you wobble over to an entrance, skate guards discarded to the side. You step onto the ice confidently, before your feet begin to move on their accord.

 

You’re practically gliding (sliding would be more accurate, but whatever) through the rink, the world passing in a colourful blur. You smile, a laugh escaping your lips. That was until you were too unaware of your surroundings, crashing into your neighbouring skater.

 

You land entangled in a heap of limbs, your face inches away from the ice. You breathe in a sigh of relief, thanking God for sparing your nose. You scramble to get off, the skater trying to help, but you fall once again, your nose slamming onto the cold ice.

 

_ Hard _ .

 

The skater tenses underneath you, your body shaking. You throat contracts, as tears threaten to fall. Gently, the skater pushes you off, blood dripping onto the ice. Your nose is bleeding.

 

You pick yourself up off the ice, rubbing at your eyes furiously. You weren’t about to cry in front of a complete stranger. You skate towards an exit, gripping the board, before dropping to your knees. Grabbing a fistful of snow, you smear it over your nose, the feeling biting. You cough at the unfamiliar sensation up your nose, slamming your fist against your chest, hoping to soothe the burn.

 

Sometime during your coughing fit, however, your “ _ Savior On Ice _ ”, found their way to your side.

 

You look up, eyes puffy from crying. He winces, and you suddenly feel bad (you don’t know why). You see him properly for the first time, and you realize he’s tall. Not too tall though, probably a head taller than you…

 

Nevermind, he’s tall.

His bright blue eyes stare down at you. You decide you like his eyes. They are harsh, with a touch of serenity off in the corner somewhere. His pale blond hair hangs down to his chin, shielding half of his face from view, a soft contrast against his pale skin. His cheeks are red, not only from the cold, but also from a harsh workout. Definitely a figure skater.

 

Just look at that  _ build _ .

 

“Вы хорошо?” He says, watching you. You stare up at him, trying to mask your confusion, but he sees right through your facade.

 

“Sorry,” he says, in english this time. “Are you alright?”

 

His accent is thick, but it sounds nice. He frowns when you don’t respond. Embarrassed, you nod quickly, cheeks dusted with pink.

 

“Good,” was his curt reply, before he offers a hand.

 

You take it, allowing him to help you to your feet.  **_What’s your name_ ** ? You ask in sign. It is now the blond man’s turn to be confused.

 

You pull out your phone, opening a new note. Swiftly, you type in your question, before holding the device up to the skater’s face, but he bats your hand aside. You scramble to catch your falling phone, glaring at the man, as he watches you with pure curiosity.

 

“Are you mute,” he asks, and you nod in approval. He smiles like a child who has received a new puppy, the corners of his mouth fully upturned.

 

“I have never met a mute before.” He says, shifting his weight on the ice. You stare at him dully, before holding your phone up to his face (you hold it a little harder this time, though, just in case he tries to slap it away).

 

**_What’s your name_ ** ?

 

The skater frowns, taking your question into consideration. “You don’t know who I am?” He asks, obviously confused.

 

You shake your head. Why would  _ you  _ know? He’s just a regular citizen in Russia, right? Wrong. Horribly,  _ horribly _ wrong.

 

“My name is Yuri Plisetsky. I am a figure skater for team Russia.”

 

Your mouth forms a small “o”.You’ve heard of this “ _ Plisetsky _ ”. Your sister is one of his Angels, and a supporter of his official fan club. She dreams of meeting him. You just have.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks. You quickly type it out on the note, before holding it out for Yuri to see. He looks at it, trying the syllables out on his tongue. You then realize your name sounds pretty good, when said in a Russian accent.

 

“You came here to skate, yes?” He asks you, inching towards your face. You nod your head quickly, heartbeat racing, as you feel his hot breath on your nose.

 

“Shall we skate, then, Без звука,” he says, voice low. 

 

You jerk away, arms flailing, all while nodding your head enthusiastically. In your excitement, the blade of your skate was caught in the ice, sending you to the floor on you bottom. Yuri laughs, leaving you to get up on your own, and you glare at his back with a burning intensity (don’t worry though, thankfulness is in there somewhere, too).

 

You scramble to follow the man, as he glides effortlessly through the rink. You begin to wish you took the lessons your family insisted on. 

 

“Без звука,” he says, chuckling. “Hurry up.” You scoff at him, but it is quickly followed by a laugh. You cannot stay angry. It doesn’t seem right.

 

He skates over to you, taking your cold hands in his. “Skate with me?” He asks, eyes full of sincerity. You nod, gripping his hands a bit tighter, as he pulls you across the ice. You weave intricate designs using the blades of your skates, as snowflakes decorate your eyelashes.

 

Yuri looks at you coldly, eyes hard, but you’re not scared. Some skaters have “faces” when they skate, and Yuri so happens to have a mad one.

 

That’s fine though.

 

Soon, he releases your hands, but moves slowly, so you can follow. You find yourself retracing the lines on the cold ice, when you catch Yuri looking at you in wonder.

 

You smile and wave, before your footing gives way and you fall over, your palms taking most of the fall. Yuri laughs, and you growl at him in frustration. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, as Yuri skates over to you. Gingerly, your “ _ Savior On Ice _ ” takes your hands, pulling you to your feet (again).

 

He leads you over to your belongings, guards back in their rightful place. He takes you to the bench, dusting it off, before allowing you to sit. 

 

“This yours?” He asks, picking up the coffee mug. You nod reaching for it. He paases the mug to you, before sitting next to you. You shiver as you drink your coffee, hopefully Yuri won’t notice. Again, you’re trying not to be like a tourist.

 

But you fail, of course.

 

He passes you your coat, standing again to help you put it on. He makes sure your belongings are in your duffel, before pulling you to  your feet. 

 

Patting your back, he smiles, looking down on you with cheery blue eyes.

 

“Go home, Без звука,” he chides, but there is not bitterness to it. You try to fight, but he places a firm finger against your lips. You blush again, watching his eyes narrow. 

“Go  **home** .”

 

You feel like pulling his hand back to your mouth, as he pulls it away. You pout in his direction, but he only smiles. 

 

“Skating is not your forte, Туристический.” 

 

You look at him curiously, but he’s already back in the rink, skating away. 

 

“Go home,” he repeats, this time like a whisper, more to himself than anyone else.

 

You look at him one more time before walking away. You watch the way he moves when he's on the ice. It was as if a whole new creature was born. Yuri Plisetsky was a strange boy. You blush, looking at your hands. 

 

Now, you just  _ have _ to message you sister.


End file.
